


bitterness of your love (sweetness of death)

by winterbitch (WinterLadyy)



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Emotional Hurt, Hanahaki Disease, Hurt Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Hurt/Comfort, Immortal Jaskier, Intimacy, Love Confessions, M/M, Reunions, Soft Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Temporary Character Death, its not mentioned but a fact
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-21
Updated: 2020-01-22
Packaged: 2021-02-27 17:53:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,728
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22347502
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WinterLadyy/pseuds/winterbitch
Summary: When Geralt realizes just what he said to Jaskier, he runs after the man. He finds him just in time to smell the flowers, see the blood and hear a confession. Then, he's dead.3 years later he hears a familiar tune in the tavern. Destiny works in mysterious ways.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 69
Kudos: 1951
Collections: Geralt is Sorry, Throat Flowers





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> geralt has to suffer im sorry

The moment the sun sets over the mountain, Geralt returns to his senses and promptly curses. It really wasn’t what he should’ve done and now he has to find Jaskier and fix it before the idiot goes and finds himself in trouble. **  
**

Again.

Geralt forcefully doesn’t thin what he’s going to say to the bard once he finds him because he’s not great with apologies but there’s no time for that. The night is on them and the mountain is a dangerous place to be for bards.

“Fuck,” he mutters again and hurries after Jaskier.

His steps are easy to trace, but Geralt frowns when he sees how they become a bit shaky, the bard stumbling from time to time. There are no other footprints around so it must be just Jaskier not feeling well, but for some reason, something dark and cold settles in his stomach.

He carries on nonetheless, already knowing Jaskier won’t be in the camp. He seems to be going down but the further Geralt goes, the more he sees the signs of stumbling. In one place, there’s even a handprint in the dirt, some blood over it.

It’s fresh and smells like fucking flowers, sweet and cloying. Dangerous.

Geralt swallows and hurries up, now really worried. More blood splattered over Jaskier’s footprints like he was coughing it up. Fever? Is he sick? Geralt didn’t notice anything but he was an amazingly bad friend so it doesn’t mean anything.

At some point, he finds bloodies petals.

That cold darkness in his stomach grows into something that almost swallows Geralt whole and then his breathing stops when he sees a whole clump of bloodied flowers on the side of the road.

Hanahaki.

Geralt never encountered this disease before but he knows how dangerous it is and this is undoubtedly Jaskier’s blood. How did he miss that? For the disease to get so bad the bard must’ve had it for a while.

He winces, ashamed and guilty. Another proof of what a shitty friend he was, even with his Witcher senses. How could he miss that?

Now, Geralt is almost running, going into a sprint when he hears something. It sounds like coughing, wet and deep and rather lethal. He breaks through the trees and then he sees him.

Jaskier, laying on the ground, bloody and covered in flowers. It’s terrifying and beautiful and Geralt’s heart is racing.

“Jaskier!”

In a flash, he’s on the bard, kneeling next to him, trying to hold his shoulders as he vomits even more flowers. Geralt can see stems and he knows it passed bad a while ago. Now, he’s not sure there’s anything to be done.

“Ge-Geralt,” Jaskier murmurs, blood all over his chin, eyes glassy. He raises one hand and lays it on Geralt’s cheek, smearing blood.

He doesn’t care.

“I’m here,” Geralt promises gently, hands shaking. He can’t remember being more afraid, more helpless. There’s no cure for Hanahaki.

Jaskier manages a shaky smile. “Dying,” he mumbles softly, a bit sadly.

“No, you’re not!” Geralt growls. “I won’t allow it.”

The bard chuckles and it turns into more coughing, blood and flowers ending up on the grass. The blood looks black in the moonlight.

“Can’t save me,” Jaskier says lightly. “Not this time.”

“I can try,” the Witcher says desperately, his very soul burning. He can’t just let Jaskier die, not when he may even-

“Why do, ah, do you care?”

Geralt’s heart stops and he closes his eyes to try and stop the tears. It’s futile and they spill down his cheeks, covering Jaskier’s hand. Guilt is almost tearing him apart at this point.

“I’m so sorry, Jas, I care very much, you’re my best friend,” he whispers feverishly, hands clutching the bard close.

This time Jaskier doesn’t seem to have the energy to chuckle, so he smiles instead, eyes half-closed. They’re so so blue and so beautiful and Geralt wants to stare ay them for the rest of forever.

“Don’t leave me,” Geralt begs finally, desperate and hopeless, holding Jaskier in his arms as he dies. He never was so helpless as he is now.

“That’s what you wanted,” Jaskier whispers. “‘m givin’ you your blessing.”

“No,” he says quietly, pressing his forehead against Jaskier’s. “I want you by my side always. I’m...sorry. I was a shit friend. A shit person.”

“You were,” Jaskier agrees weakly. He’s fading quick, blood filling his lungs, flowers stoping the air. Geralt is crying openly now. “Still loved you. Always will, Geralt.”

“Jaskier!” It’s a sob, desperate and sad and he wants to say more but anguish is clogging him up and then Jaskier takes one last, rattling breath and closes his eyes, his heart still.

“No! Jaskier!”

Geralt wants to shake him awake, but he looks so fragile in his arms, bloodied and pale, rapidly growing cold. Instead, he bows his head and presses it against Jaskier’s chest, more tears coming when he feels no heartbeat. There’s only the smell of flowers, blood and Gralt’s sobs.

“I love you too, please…”

He knows it’s for nought. He misses his chance, missed it so impressively… Jaskier must’ve been suffering for months if not years already. Geralt can’t remember the time when there wasn’t a smell of flowers around him. And Geralt, stupid and blind and stubborn, never noticed. He pushes Jaskier away, punched him, humiliated him all the time.

And Jaskier just loved him silently through it all, suffering but never saying a word, even as pain probably tore apart his chest and lungs. 

For a long time, Geralt just kneels there and cries, guilty, ashamed and desperately in love with a man who died in his arms. 

Only when the sun comes up does he get up and gently lays Jaskier down. It takes some time to make a grave and Geralt is crying the whole time. He can’t remember the last time he cried, he felt so much, but Jaskier is dead and bloody laying there in the rising sun and it’s all Geralt’s fault.

With aching gentleness, Geralt kisses his forehead and lowers him into the ground. He looks a bit like he’s sleeping, even bloody and covered in flowers and it kills something in Geralt to cover his beauty in more dirt, but he has to.

He uses one of his swords, the silver one, enchanted to last, and puts it into the ground to mark the grave. There’s nothing more to do.

“I’m so sorry, Jaskier,” he whispers hoarsely, sanding over the grave. “I love you.”

With that, he turns around and leaves, his whole heart hidden in the ground, laying dead and still.

As he leaves, buttercups start blooming over the grave, reminding everyone what it was that killed Jaskier.

Love and buttercups.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> see?? he's FINE

3 years alone. Not that many in Witcher’s years but for some reason to Geralt they felt like an eternity. He used to want silence and peace while travelling but now he found himself longing to hear Jaskier’s voice, see his bright blue eyes and ridiculous outfits. **  
**

Every breath feels like agony, even so many years later, and Geralt never comes back to Jaskier’s grave, even though he should. He’s the only one that knows where the bard lays but it’s too much. He has nightmares about that night, about the blood on Jaskier’s lips, about the flowers.

Geralt fucking hates buttercups.

He’s not big on flowers anyway but buttercups only remind him of blood and Jaskier’s love confession. Those words still haunt him every night and every night he’s just a bit too late returning them.

He sleeps on the road more often than not, because hearing a bard sing, a bard that isn’t Jaskier is too much and Geralt would rather sleep on the hard ground than be reminded of what he lost.

3 years pass and he still can’t forgive himself. Geralt is sure that he will die before forgiving himself for Jaskier’s death, for how he treated him. He knows just how much he hurt the bard, how terrible he was, how cruel.

Not even on that mountain, no. The whole time. Geralt may be dense but he’s not that stupid and now he has nothing if time on his hands. He went over his friendship with Jaskier and what he came up was terrible.

It’s a wonder the bard even stuck with him, because Geralt punched, humiliated, left and generally treated Jaskier terrible. He knows that the bard stayed because he loved him, and it hurts even more because how could Jaskier love such a monster?

How could he die for that love, under the impression that Geralt hated him and wanted to get rid of him?

There are too many questions that Geralt will never get answers too, and he’s just...tired. He’s tired of living, of waking up and seeing Jaskier’s blood on his hands, of travelling in silence. He’s very very tired.

The rain forces Geralt to seek shelter at a tavern as there are no caves nearby and it’s wet and cold. The Witcher’s body can take it but he doesn’t need any more dangers.

He stumbles into the tavern dripping wet, miserable and angry at the world. His hood his up, his hair is dripping and all he’s dreaming about is a hot meal and some ale. Geralt’s just about to take the hood off when he hears it.

“Toss a coin to your Witcher…”

For a second, Geralt’s heart really stops. There’s no air in the room and everything is spinning and he can’t fucking breathe because this is Jaskier’s song, performed in Jaskier’s voice. Geralt hasn’t heard that voice in 3 years and it sounds even better than he remembered it.

He’s afraid to look.

It can be a hallucination, wishful thinking on his part, fucking insanity for all he cares. Geralt doesn’t want to look up and realize it’s some unknown bard with a similar voice, doesn’t want to have his hope crushed like that.

Suddenly, the music stops and he hears someone walking closer. A familiar scent - grass and buttercups and Geralt stifles a snarl because he came to hate buttercups with passion. He’s just about to turn around and run like the coward he is when,

“Geralt?”

Geralt closes his eyes and stubbornly doesn’t look up. He knows that Jaskier is dead. Jaskier died right in his arms, choking on flowers he started to grow because he loved Geralt too much. This, whatever it is, can’t be Jaskier.

When that mysterious person tries to step even closer to him, Geralt grabs it’s wrist and snarls. 

“Geralt!”

He swallows and finally looks up to meet a very angry, blue eyes. Familiar blue eyes, the ones that haunt his every night. Geralt’s breathing stops again and he’s aware that around them people are talking but all he can focus on is the man in front of him.

His medallion is silent as Geralt stares at a man with Jaskier’s face, his eyes and smirk, his smell, his everything.

“Think you can let go of my wrist, Geralt?” the man asks gently, moving said wrist.

Geralt’s eyes snap to the arm he’s holding and winces at the already-forming bruises. Even his skin feels like Jaskier’s under his hand. 

“Hello? Anyone home, Geralt? I’m getting old here, well, heh, I’m actually not but that’s a story just for you, you won’t believe it, Geralt, of all the things to happen to me this has to be the craziest, I tell you-”

The babbling is so like Jaskier, down to his little smirks, eyes lighting up, hands moving as he speaks. Geralt’s heart is bleeding, his hands are trembling and he needs to kill this creature that’s pretending to be Jaskier but he can’t.

Something must show on his face as Jaskier abruptly stops and looks at him.

“You’re disgusting and wet. And in shock, I think. Time for a bath!” he exclaims and tugs Geralt up the stairs with more force than the Witcher was expecting.

He stumbles up the stairs after the man that could be Jaskier, heart in his throat, almost like in a daze. Geralt isn’t sure he’s not dreaming because this is too good to be true.

He lets the bard strip him and push him into a bath that suddenly appears in the room. Geralt is too tired and shocked to even care how did it get here. He just sinks into the water and stares up at Jaskier, soaking him up.

The bard looks just like he used to, the same brown hair, blue eyes, long fingers, pink mouth. He even has the same look in his eyes, fond exasperation, even love that Geralt missed the last time. Jaskier still looks at him as if he loves him as if that love didn’t kill him 3 years ago in a forest in the middle of nowhere.

“Geralt,” Jaskier, it has to be Jaskier, says gently. He’s kneeling by Geralt’s side, one hand on the Witcher’s arm, the other coming up to cup his face. “I’m myself. Promise.”

“How.”

It’s a growl, not angry but desperate and Jaskier can still read him like a damn book. The bard hums and rubs some dirt from Geralt’s cheek with his thumb.

“Destiny is a bitch, apparently,” he says as if it explains anything. “Hanahaki is magic. So, after I died,” Geralt flinches but Jaskier continues, “magic took hold and chose to raise me from the dead. After 3 years apparently, for one reason or another, but the conditions of the disease were met - you loved me back. You still love me, if the lack of flowers is anything to go by.”

It’s way too much for Geralt to comprehend. His mind is hazy because there is Jaskier, touching him with actual fingers, looking at him with blessedly lively eyes, telling him that he’s back because Gerlt loves him and Jaskier apparently also loves him, even after everything and he’s just…

“Oh fuck, are you crying?”

He is. By some fucking miracle, Geralt is actually crying, silent tears running down his face. Jaskier stares at him in panicked confusion for a second, before getting into the tub as well, clothes and all. He sits on Geralt’s lap, hauls him close and lets the Witcher cry into his shoulder.

He feels like a damn maiden, crying on the bard, but there are slender hands in his hair and Jaskier still smells like himself and he doesn’t even hate the buttercups' scent because there’s no blood this time.

There’s just Jaskier, warm and alive, his heart beating furiously, smelling like home and love and being gentle as if Geralt isn’t what killed him, as if nothing’s wrong, as if-

“Geralt,” Jaskier interrupts his frantic thoughts by cupping his face and making their eyes meet. “I love you. Always did, always will. Death can’t change that.”

Geralt doesn’t feel like there are any tears left for him to cry, but there are more coming, mixing with the water from the bath and then Jaskier’s lips are there, kissing it all away and it feels like a blessing.

“I-” he can’t say anything else, choked up again, emotions overwhelming him completely. Here is a fierce Witcher, brought down by feelings for a smirking bard. 

“I know,” Jaskier says gently, oh so gently, resting their foreheads together. “I came back because you love me, Geralt, I know.”

Geralt closes his eyes and wraps his arms around Jaskier’s waist, uncaring about the wet fabric. It doesn’t feel real. It feels like the best dream he ever had and there are lips pressing kisses to the crown of his head and he’s still crying like a baby and he loves the man in his arms very very much.

Nothing is okay yet. Nothing is explained, he has no idea what the fuck is going on, and he needs to apologize for so many things, grovel and beg for forgiveness, but for now, Jaskier still loves him, is warm and _alive_ in his arms and the rest can wait.

“Love you,” Geralt finally mutters, voice hoarse and half-gone. He can feel the smile Jaskier has on his face and it makes him smile as well. He’s scared that he’ll wake up and find it all gone, but for now, he has everything he needs.

**Author's Note:**

> happy ending guaranteed promise!


End file.
